Beware the Jabberwock
by TheSecretCity
Summary: Casefic! Garcia is sent out with the team hunting a serial killer in January, Florida.Rated for later chapters.Now Complete!
1. Twas Brillig

_Beware the Jabberwock_

_Twas Brillig_

_They were all seated at the war room table, tablets in hand. As usual, Garcia had her back to the screen on the wall. To her right was Hotch. Reid was already there, and Prentiss and Morgan-everyone except Rossi._

_Rossi was never actually late_, per se. He was just a few minutes behind Hotch every day coming in.

And in he strode, coffee in hand, wearing his usual jeans-formal shirt-leather shoes ensemble. Garcia had no room to say anything about his attire-she was dressed in spring colors with flowers all over her dress and in her flaming red hair. He nodded good morning and plonked himself down in the empty seat next to Hotch.

She saw Hotch's eyebrow cock. It was her signal.

"Okay, PD in January, Florida, sent the nasty pictures on your tablets," she pushed her glasses up with the hand holding her pen. "These are all men between the ages of thirty-five and fifty from the local area. James Hendershot, Samuel Rush, and Eric Kohl all were reported missing on a Friday night, and even though missing persons can't be filed for seventy-two hours family and friends sure tried. Their bodies were all found Monday morning along a stretch of Highway 913."

Hotch took over seamlessly. They were getting good at this, Garcia reflected. It wasn't JJ's usually way of handling things but between her and Hotch things got done and the work wasn't all on one person.

"None of these men have ties to each other?"

"Nothing obvious," Garcia said. "Still running more in-depth checks. There is another thing."

"The bodies were posed," Hotch agreed.

"Yeah, and Annie Leibowitz the unsub was not."

"Who?" Reid asked.

Garcia rolled her eyes. "The lady who does photos for Harper's Bazaar. The magazine?"

Reid still looked blank. Garcia could see Rossi smirking. She nudged Hotch under the table and used her foot to indicate Rossi. Hotch did the sensible thing and kicked Rossi under the table. Rossi stopped smirking.

"According to the timeline we have two days before the unsub snatches another victim," Hotch closed out the window in his tablet. "Let's go. Garcia?"

"Sir?"

"I'd like you to fly out with us."

"Sorry?"

Hotch shuffled his papers, not looking at her. "I want you to have more field experience."

"I am not a field agent, Hotch!"

Rossi remained while the others filed out, grabbing go bags and files and coats.

"I know that, Garcia." Hotch bit his lip, just a little, very small-boy and endearing.

Rossi put a hand on Hotch's shoulder, briefly, and squeezed. "We're a man down, kitten," Rossi explained.

"But I'm not a field agent! I'm not even an agent! I'm a technical analyst! And I don't talk to crazy people. No. No way."

Rossi grinned wolfishly. "Not even when those kids were playing that choking game online?"

"But he wasn't a bad guy, he was a victim," Garcia pointed out. "And I am not talking to you, David Rossi."

She turned the full force of her Garcia-ness onto Hotch. "What do you expect me to do out in the field?"

"The same thing you do here, but closer to us."

"No suspects? No talking to crazy homicidal maniacs with God complexes?"

"I won't make you talk to crazy people," he agreed solemnly.

"See?" she shook her violet-colored finger at Hotch and turned to Rossi. "See that? It's a loophole. He won't make me but he'll ask and I'll feel guilty if I don't say yes!"

She was puffed up like a frantic fish. "Kitten-"

"Garcia-"

She turned back to Hotch. "I want a pinkie-swear that you won't make me talk to crazies."

She imperiously held out her pinkie. Hotch looped his own around hers. "Pinkie swear," he agreed.

"Good," she dropped his hand and picked up her laptop. "That's a legally binding contract, mister. I need to get my bag."

And she swished out of the room, dress rustling. Behind her, she could hear Hotch and Rossi gathering the last of their things, always the last to leave.


	2. The Frumious Bandersnatch

_The Frumoius Bandersnatch_

_Garcia was surprised. It wasn't that difficult to work in the field, except that they all kept popping their heads around her computer while she tracked down everything about the victims she could. It did have its advantages, though-she hadn't had to get her own coffee even once. And Morgan was fetching it for her, reappearing when she needed a refill like a genie from a bottle._

_It was the credit cards that were starting to connect the victims. Not that they went to the same places-it was the same types_ of places. Most of them were further away, in Jacksonville and Orlando, but there were a few closer to home.

Morgan was back with her big travel cup filled again, and she could smell the sugar and Irish cream. "You look like you got something."

"Fleas, possibly."

"Is that a techie joke, or-"

And Hotch was standing in front of her computer, eyebrow cocked.

Garcia looked at him over her glasses. "It looks like all the men were using their credit cards at gay bars."

"So our unsub is targeting gay men on the prowl," which Garcia found an odd way to put it.

"I'm am not a profiler. I repeat what my baby tells me," she patted her laptop and got a tired grin from Hotch.

"Thanks, Garcia."

Morgan kissed her ear on the way out, Hotch getting ready to follow. "Sir?"

"Yes, Garcia?"

"Are you okay?"

He gave her an odd look.

"It's just-" she fumbled for the right words. "I know you miss them."

No need to say who 'them' was. Haley. JJ. He nodded.

"And I just-well, I know I'm not a big scary guy like Rossi, and I'd completely freak out if I had to even touch a gun-ask Derek because it was his gun I freaked out with-but I've got your back."

Hotch leaned over and kissed her cheek. She felt herself flush.

"Thank you, Penelope."

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Toiling away to find anyone who was at those bars on the nights their victims were-whoever said being a techie for the FBI was glamorous should run multiple credit checks simultaneously for five friggin' hours-when Garcia's phone rang. It was Hotch's number.

"Yes, O Fearless Leader?"

Silence.

"Hotch the Strange?"

More silence.

"Okay, if this is a joke, I will personally ruin your finances for all eternity. Did Morgan put you up to this?"

A breath.

Garcia started a trace. That wasn't Hotch. She also hit record and pulled up Rossi and Morgan's cell lines, muted on her end.

And finally the caller spoke. "Who is this?"

The voice was electronically scrambled. "This is Penelope Garcia with the FBI. May I ask to who I am speaking?"

"You already know."

She had no idea. "Well, knowing who you are and knowing what to call you are two different things."

"Charlie."

"Lovely. Like Charles Manson. May I speak with Agent Hotchner?"

"No."

"Fine. I'll just hang up and-"

"Do you want to know where he is?"

"That would be nice."

"Locked away."

"Somehow, that doesn't help me, Charlie. And for all I know you stole this phone and he's wandering in circles at the coffee shop looking for it, since it's glued to his fingers all the time."

"He won't be back."

"Have you ever seen someone about these delusions of yours?"

"He tried to cloud my mind and seduce me with evil."

"Of course."

"I am on a mission from God!"

"Great. You're a psycho Blues Brother." she almost slapped a hand over her mouth, but remembered Hotch saying that unsubs could identify and exploit any weakness they found. "What's your problem with Hotch?"

There was a snort.

"Well, he doesn't trawl gay bars," she took a blind stab. 

A sharp intake of breath. "You know."

"I'm psychic," she told him shortly.

"So you understand."

"What I understand is that you have kidnapped a federal agent and are so deep in horse dung we'll need a backhoe to drag your sorry butt to court. You will call this number back in thirty minutes with proof of life."

"And if I don't?"

"It's speed-dial six, Charlie."

She hung up, shaking, and pressed a button.

Rossi was talking in her ear. "Garcia!"

"I had you on mute, take a breath and get back here!"

Morgan was there, too. "We're headed there right now, Baby Girl. Hang tight."

"Easy for you to say, get back here and talk to this lunatic, he's got Hotch!" "We're coming," Rossi repeated. "But kitten, you're the negotiator."

"WHAT!"

"Rossi's right," Morgan agreed. "You've got a rapport with him. We'll coach you on what to say."

Garcia heard Emily say something in the background. "What was that?"

"Emily says you don't need coaching. Just take a breath, okay?"

"He went to the Starbucks down the street, but I don't remember when, I was running credit checks-"

"Reid and Prentiss'll check it out. We'll be there in just a minute, okay?"

Garcia nodded even though they couldn't see her. "Okay."

A crazy homicidal maniac with a God complex was holding Hotch hostage.

Oh hell.


	3. The Vorpal Blade

The Vorpal Blade

She had Morgan on one side and Rossi on the other. Waiting for the phone to ring. It was the longest wait she'd ever experienced.

"You ready?" Rossi asked. She nodded, going over all the advice she'd been given.

The phone rang. She jumped. It was Hotch's number.

Deep breath, and she answered.

"Hello, Charlie."

"Penelope Garcia," he answered. "I'll give you one minute on the phone with Agent Hotchner."

"Hurry up, then. You're wasting it."

There was scuffing, and Hotch's slurry voice. "Garcia?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Can you tell me anything about where you are?" They had no idea if the unsub could hear them talking to Hotch.

"'S dark," he muttered. "I forgot to call Jack."

"He's fine, honey," Garcia had no idea how Jack was, but she'd call Jessica to find out ASAP. "I'll tell him you said hey."

"Thanks."

There was more scuffing. Footsteps? She'd have to check the sound analysis. And Charlie was back.

"Satisfied?"

"No, because he's there and not here, but it'll do for now. How do we go about getting him back?"

This was the heart of the discussion. _What_ he wanted would help them figure out _who_ he was. Or she. The electronic voice was hard to read.

"I have a message. No one has been listening."

"You mean no one noticed the bodies."

Charlie was too far gone in his own delusion to notice the sarcasm. "Exactly. I want you to get the message out. And you know what it is."

"Tell me in your own words."

"Why?"

"Because I don't believe you're anything but nuts and won't be able to tell it in a way to make others believe it," she improvised. Did he really think she was psychic?

There was a throat clearing. "There are liars among us," and it was done as if reading a script. "These liars wiggle into our lives, our homes, like wolves in sheep's clothing, snakes in the grass. They become our friends, lovers, fathers, but they have a dark secret inside them, and this fungus rots us all from the inside. They take away everything that we have worth fighting for. My question is this: How long will we go without looking at our own homes for the evil we protest against?"

She could see for the look on Rossi's face that this was better then donuts.

Charlie was still talking. "Will you release that statement to the press?"

"No."

That brought Charlie down faster then a punctured balloon. "What?"

"No, I will not release your statement to the media."

"I will kill your agent."

"You know, people who kill law enforcement officers rarely go to jail. They seem to get killed before they can. Odd things happen to them-car wrecks, getting shot in the stomach, long and painful ways to go. That sort of thing. Now, I have a recording of what you said. And I'll trade you-Hotch's life for your statement."

"Not a fair trade."

Garcia considered. Rossi scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

"How about this, then-we release a part of your statement to the media, and if we keep our end, we talk about getting Hotch back."

"When?"

"Check the evening news, and call back after."

Garcia hung up.

Crazy homicidal maniac.


	4. The Tulgey Wood

The Tulgey Wood

Rossi was leading the discussion they were having.

"I think our unsub's a woman," he announced first.

Morgan nodded. "Talking about homes and families and fathers in that way was definitely from a woman's perspective. And it explains why Charlie would talk to Garcia."

Garcia blinked at him. "Huh?"

Reid explained. "Women generally feel less threatened by other women then by men. She sees you as almost an ally."

"And we need to play that," Morgan added. "If Charlie trusts Garcia we gotta play that for all it's worth."

"Do you think I could talk to her?" Emily broke in.

"Maybe," Morgan agreed. "But Garcia has the rapport already."

Emily nodded. "No switching negotiators. It breeds distrust," she added to Garcia.

Garcia raised her hand. "What do I do the next time psycho chick calls?"

"I'll stay here with you," Reid volunteered.

"I know that, sweetie," she rolled her eyes. "I mean what do I do to get her to let Hotch go?"

"Build on your rapport," Rossi advised. "Ask her questions, agree with her beliefs. Like a really bad blind date."

That got a tired snicker. "Like you've ever had a bad date," Morgan teased.

"You saying you've avoided them all?"

"Yeah. But I'm younger, too, so there's more selection."

Morgan was the recipient of several thrown objects, ranging from a Styrofoam cup to Rossi's hand. "I give! Uncle! You are all crazy," he muttered once the barrage had stopped.

"Okay. Morgan and I will present the profile. Prentiss, you're the face of the FBI for the press conference. Reid, stay with Garcia."

They cleared out, Reid reaching for his files. Garcia waited until he was so deep in them he wouldn't hear her. Then she called Jessica.

She had met Jessica at Haley's funeral, and after JJ had left, had somehow gotten several calls from her meant for the former communications coordinator.

"Hotchner residence," Jessica answered.

"Hi Jess. It's PG."

"How are you? Wait, is everything okay?"

"I'm good. Hotch is okay," _for now_. "I was calling to check on Jack."

She could hear Jessica move away from the living room where Jack was watching TV loudly. "PG, what's happening?"

"Don't freak out, okay?"

"Is Aaron hurt?" "Not that we know of. He's being held hostage."

"Oh God."

"It's okay, Jess. I promise."

"Some lunatic, isn't it?"

"They're all some lunatic, Jess. But Hotch will be fine."

"Who's the negotiator?"

"Rossi's handling it." which he was. Through her. "I just wanted to make sure you knew. And he asked if Jack was okay, so I thought I should call."

"You'll keep me posted?"

"You'll know first from me. Cross my heart."

Reid was making motions. The press conference was about to air. "I need to go catch bad guys now, Jess."

"Go. Love you, PG."

"Kisses for you and Jack."

She hung up, cricked her neck, and got her butt in gear.

Author's Note: I wasn't too sure I liked my first version, so I did revisions that made it be closer to what I wanted. Better or vorse?


	5. Jubjub Bird

Jubjub Bird

The phone rang. Garcia answered.

"Hi Charlie."

"Agent Garcia," and from the satisfaction even Garcia could tell Charlie was happy.

"I take it you saw our press conference."

"I did."

"And since you called you are open to further negotiation."

"Correct."

"Then this is what we want-our agent back. What do you want?"

There was a pause, as if Charlie hadn't considered fully. "A person for a person."

"What person?"

"It won't work if you aren't psychic."

"Well, I am so hit me."

"He's dead."

Garcia rolled her eyes. "So? I know a medium, better then me at it," Reid was making slashing motions with his hands. Garcia mimed stabbing him with a pen. He stopped.

"His name is Dexter Kernick. He died three months ago."

She typed the name in. "Is there a message for Dexter you'd like to deliver, or some phrase that will make him talk to my friend?"

"Ask him if he remembers what he did to his wife."

"A real bastard, huh?"

Dexter Kernick's widow was Charlotte Kernick. _Charlie_ Kernick?

"A real bastard," Charlie agreed. "Can you do it?"

"I surely can, Charlie."

"Most people said I was crazy for thinking I could talk to Charlie again."

"Most people are not me," more information was coming up. Charlotte had been hospitalized for exhaustion after Dexter's death, then admitted to the psych ward with delusions. She'd been released a month ago.

"I'm glad."

"Yeah, I've been told I was crazy."

"What did you do?"

Dexter Kernick had been a doctor at the hospital where Charlotte had been admitted. So most of his friends were on staff. Including the chief of the psych ward.

"I ruined lives," mostly financial, but to some of her victims it was no different then killing them outright.

"Good."

"Okay, I've been IMing my medium friend. She needs you to call her from someplace Dexter was a lot, like his house."

"I can do that."

She had Kernick's address and texted it to the team. "Once you're there, wait five minutes and then call this number back. I'll hook you up on a three-way with her. Okay?"

"Okay."

"And we need our agent back."

"After I talk to Dexter I'll tell you where he is."

Charlie hung up.

Reid was hopping around on his cell. "Yeah, she's right here-"

Garcia took the phone. "Don't you _dare _go near the address I texted you until I say so! I want to make sure Charlie's there."

"Baby girl, you know who that is?" "Dexter Kernick's widow Charlotte."

"I missed a bit there."

"Just stay out of sight until she calls again, and then I'll call you. She wants to talk to her dead husband and once she does she'll tell us where Hotch is."

"How are you going to produce a dead guy?"

"Not now, Derek."

She hung up, and began researching the late Dexter Kernick's life. "Reid?"

"Yeah?" She handed him a piece of paper. "Friend of mine. Actress. Get her on the line and hand it to me."

"What are you planning?"

She gritted her teeth and smiled. "What Derek and Rossi always say. Play into the delusion until you can break it."


	6. Manxone Foe

Manxone Foe

Garcia had Lola on one line and another open for Charlie.

"So you'll text me what I need to say as a medium, I say it. Like a radio script," Lola wanted to be sure she understood.

"Right."

"And this will help catch the bad guy?"

"Less talk and more doing what I tell you, shortcake."

"Waiting for lines, boss lady."

The other line rang. "Showtime."

Garcia waved to Reid, who dialed all but the last number of Morgan's cell, waiting.

"Charlie?" Garcia answered.

"I'm here. At the house."

"I've got my friend on the other line. Are you ready?"

Reid was wanting to push the button, hopping up and down. She shook her head.

"Yes."

Garcia released that her medium had no name, and 'Lola', while artistic, did not inspire confidence.

"Mrs. Brunswick, have you reached Dexter?"

"I have," Lola was a master. Her voice was ethereal and about ninety. "And he wishes to communicate his sorrow at all he did to Charlotte."

Garcia was texting with one hand and typing with the other. She gave Reid another look and he sat down abruptly.

"Dex?" electronic voice or no, Charlie-Charlotte-was ecstatic.

"He is here," Lola continued. "Ask anything you want to know."

"Why did you leave me to that man?"

Garcia texted furiously.

"Because," Lola continued. "He did not know what would happen."

"Yes he did! That bastard knew!"

"Charlie," Garcia interposed quickly. "Let Dexter talk."

"He's a liar! Even when he's dead he's a liar!"

"What did he lie to you about, Charlotte?" Garcia muted Lola's end. "What did that Godawful man do to you before he died?"

"He didn't die! I killed him! That's what they all said, I killed him I killed him I _killed_ him-"

"Tell me why they were telling you that, Charlotte. Dammit, let me help you!"

There was nothing about this in any of her files, even the sealed ones.

"His lover said that, every damn day and when I finally believed him he let me go that bastard damn him to hell why couldn't he just _stop_-"

"Then why did you kill them all? Because you couldn't kill him, because he was untouchable?"

Reid dialed the last number. Garcia grabbed the phone from him and shut it.

"And is that why you kidnapped Hotch? Another man who was the same as that damned doctor who ruined what was left of your life after he destroyed your marriage? Talk to me, Charlotte."

Charlotte was quiet. "I hate them all."

"You should," Garcia agreed softly.

"I _hate_ them."

"Where is Agent Hotchner?"

"Dexter had another house, outside the city. He's in the basement. How many other men out there are like Dexter?"

"Charlotte, honey," Garcia pulled up Dexter's autopsy report again. "Dexter was a stroke victim. You didn't kill him."

She handed Reid's cell back to him and motioned for him to dial.

"That man said I did."

"_That man_ was a sick bastard. Honey, there are going to be some FBI agents coming into the house. Just be still and do as they say, okay?"

"Thank you, Agent Garcia."

She could hear, on Charlotte's end, the doors coming open and Morgan's voice.

"Am I a bad person, Agent Garcia?"

Garcia didn't like nasty, crazy killers. Killing people, hurting people-that was worse then bad, that was a sin to the tenth power. The hundredth power.

"No, Charlotte. You are not a bad person. You're just a person who had severely bad things happen to them."

Morgan was in the background. "Hands up! Right now!"

Garcia hung up the phone.

Author's Note: This is not quite the end just yet! There are still a few loose ends to tie up.


	7. O Frabjous Day

O Frabjous Day

Garcia didn't like waiting. She made took the keys from Reid and started to drive to Dexter's house to met the team there.

"We should really just wait," Reid told her from the passenger seat.

"I am not waiting."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out."

She pulled in behind the other SUVs. There was already an ambulance and the place was crawling. She flashed her FBI badge-no wonder Prentiss liked to do it in bars, it felt good-and got inside.

Morgan was the first to notice her. "Baby girl?"

"Where is Hotch?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"They're getting him ready to go the hospital. Why are you at a crime scene?"

"Derek, I love you and you are a god, but right now I'm going to see Hotch however weird he's acting and you will get out of my way or so help me you will feel the full wrath of Penelope Garcia," and she stormed past him.

Morgan looked at Reid. Reid shrugged. "She's been like that all day."

Garcia let herself in to the musty smelling house. Of course it was musty-it hadn't been opened until yesterday.

Hotch was under an oxygen mask, still looking woozy. She sidestepped the EMTs and took his hand. His eyes focused-somewhat-on her.

Garcia grinned. "You look like me after a really good party. You know, the next day."

Hotch snorted, and she could see some humor in the corners of his eyes. He squeezed her hand.

"Oh, and I need a pay raise," she continued. "Because I spent the whole time you were high in here talking to a crazy homicidal maniac. Which you said wasn't part of my job description. So I'll be needing a raise and some hazard pay. And a cooler title."

Hotch reached up his other hand and pulled off the mask. "Garcia, please be quiet before I break a rib."

He was smiling.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"You're sweet."

"Ride with me?"

His eyes were drifting over to the ambulance.

She squeezed his hand back.

"Absolutely."

. . . . . . . . . . .

The hospital released Hotch the next day. Garcia had brought his go-bag and suggested he burn the suit he'd be kidnapped in.

Midway through pulling on an undershirt-only the top of his head and eyes visible-he stopped and looked at her.

"Burn a suit?" he asked incredulously.

"It's bad luck now. What if, now, every time you wear it, people throw things at you, or you spill coffee on it, or you're in car wrecks, or-" "Has anyone ever told you your crazy?"

"Yeah. You."

Hotch finished getting dressed. "Penelope?" "No, I am not getting rid of the pictures I took of your bum while your back was turned."

He smiled but didn't take the bait.

"You did excellent. Hostage negotiation is difficult even for experts. You thought fast and handled the situation well."

Garcia blushed and shrugged. "Morgan and Rossi and everyone helped." "But you were on the phone with Charlotte. I don't think you understand how well you did. Everyone, even our unsub, is still alive. You figured out who and where and how to stop her.

"I'm recommending you for the Meritorious Civilian Award."

"Hotch!" she was still blushing but smacked his arm. "I don't want awards or anything. Next they'll try making me a hostage negotiator."

Hotch looked sheepish.

"No. Tell me you didn't recommend me for _that_, too."

"Just as a sort of auxiliary."

"Forget Charlotte. _I_ will kill you."

Hotch held out his hands in surrender. "It's too late. You're a last resort person. You'll still be an analyst and work for the team. But sometimes you might get called out to handle situations like this."

She sighed and grabbed her alligator-shaped purse. Then she looped her arm through his.

"I will get you for this. You do know that?"

"I do."

"Good."

They left the hospital arm in arm, headed to the airport, and home.

Author's Note: I have no idea if the Meritorious Civilian Award is even real or applies to the FBI. I saw it in an episode of NCIS and figured I could use it here.


End file.
